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Horror Revised II: Phantom of the Opera
Every day these stone walls exist as a trap for me, and the soul that lurks in my body. The catacombs I've built for myself in this temple to music are known to none but myself, and I suppose that will always be the way of these stone chambers. Every day flooded with the voices of those singing in this place, the Sydney Opera house, which I had played such a large role in as the architect. These rooms I made as a twisted playground for myself now only curse me with loneliness as I hear the voices and instruments of those who wish my talent upon themselves. My entire life has been given to the art of sound. My face born a wretched mess, so deformed my own mother cast me out. If only I had not found the circus, I would have died on the streets alone, not under them, alone. My music is my company, and all else would wish me deceased. Abandoned to my own mind and mask for eternity, until the man-made concept of death is to take me away. But wait! What is that noise? That wonderful noise? Unlike any other voice I have heard in my existence. This voice is the lure of the ocean, pulling the fish toward it. The crack of the stone wall should prove perfect to see the one with this angelic voice of all voices! Yes, yes. I see her. Her mouth and face just as beautiful as the voice that they release. This exactly is truly the bond of the universe. Her voice and my piano, they are a pair made from a being, above both God and Devil alike! No, no! Her voice has stopped! This is unacceptable! Wait, another voice, more masculine. Ah, I know this voice. The judge of the annual plays. "Christine." The voice echoes through the large show room I proudly designed. A beautiful name, and such a man to deliver it to me. Christine. A perfect name for the voice she gives us all. "We would like to see the next contestants, please. We will contact you if things change." What did my ears just hear? He didn't accept her on the spot? Such an angel deserves to own the opera house I designed, not be shoved out of it! A deaf judge? A corrupt system? Some reasoning has to be sent to me! I need to make sure this wisp of love stays in my company. Her voice is the poison to an evil creature. The light in the darkest sections of Tarsus. The spreading creation of Th- The chandelier. Perfect. The tunnels are perfectly designed for this type of "handiwork", if I do say so myself. Just a few more seconds of this running, and here we are. The wonderful staircase leading to the rope catwalk. Step by step these metal stairs ring in my head, but there isn't a worry in the world. This Christine will be so delighted! Without a judge, she will be forced to be the only choice, after the investigation of course. She will fall unto me like a bee to its lovely honey source! And here the catwalk is. Wonderful thing. The sandbags and ropes served as a fast escape every other time I was sighted, but I had a feeling I wouldn't need them this time. At least, not to escape. Travel, perhaps. The chandelier lays right in front of me but in the center of the room. Sandbags always were there for me. Now all I have to do is grab on and swing straight the chandelier! Perfect. That will teach the judge right what he needs to know! The chandelier above the judge crashes down. The glass shatters and the brass bends. Christine lets out an ungodly scream, as the judge is killed by the impact. Unable to take her eyes of the chandelier in fear, she lets out a deathly scream of terror. That scream! That beautifully destructive scream! The terror and pain held in one vocal movement nearly replicated my own voice! Christine. Such a name is the moon to my sun, and the stars to my night. But she can't see me yet. No, no, I have to stay away from her light! Christine looks to her right after hearing the sound of footsteps against metal, as opposed to the multiple footsteps hitting the wooden stage floor at the time. Upon thinking of what could make the noise, she looks up, seeing a black blur, the shape of a man, running down the catwalk. When he reaches the end, he seemingly disappears. The judge deserved it! How could any man not adore and fall to his feet at the hands of Christine? The voice will break concepts! The music flows more than the blood through the bodies of the youth! Now, Christine will be the only one able to receive the part! But if the opera itself were to close from my actions, then my very own music would shed through Christine's voice! These tunnels, they show me her through their openings. Christine, now that the panicking men and women have left, notices a brick going into the wall. On the other side laid a blank white face, with a finger performing a "come hither" movement. Noticing that no one else was looking at her, she crept towards the hole and spoke. "What are you doing in the wall? There was a murder!" The face on the other side of the wall crooks its head to the right, as if it was confused. A slow, raspy voice speaks, but the mouth does not move. "These walls. They are mine. I can show you what the world has to offer, Christine." Christine seemed disturbed. "How do you know my name?" "Our judge friend had told me before this accident. It is a dire shame. If the opera is to be canceled, I can have it reopen! You as the star and ringleader! I have written the perfect opera, Christine. Are you interested?" "Do you not believe in honoring the dead? We need to save the judge's image and respect him! I will be with my fia-" The face backed up, into the blackness. A white glove stretched gently through the hole, and black clothing covered the rest. The hand reaches to Christine, and places its fingers between her thighs, causing her to jump. "I would never respect a man against any aspect of you, Christine. The masquerade is in three nights time. Meet me there. I will make myself known, lovely. And your friend Raoul can stay far away from you. He has already harmed me mentally once, dear." Christine seemingly jogged off, and the hand came back into the wall. The brick was placed back, as the Phantom ran back through his hallways. Her skin is soft, and her soul is free. The love one simple touch can create is beyond that of my comprehension. My weak, weak heart cannot contain the love that exists from such a delight! The masquerade! She shall be there! Oh, how lucky of any man to sit once more with her, and to dance as well! Three days passed, the masquerade is held at the ball room in the theater. Banners for the judge's funeral and remembrance hang high in his honor. Christine and the other guests are gathered on the ballroom floor. Most of them speaking of the "accident", while a few dance to the slower songs. Christine, face covered in a opera mask, dances with a charming young man, dressed richly. A man in an all red cloak walks toward them slowly, with a skull as an obvious mask. "Christine, you did attend?" the man in red says urgently, but quietly. "Yes, I did attend. I'm here with my partner in crime," she says, letting out a slight smile. Crime? Has the Christine I love fell into a life below her worth? A life of crime and misfortune. "Partner in crime?" "My fiance, Raoul. He insisted to come, after I told him about your invitation," she muttered, awkwardly. Marriage! Marriage is no better than a life of crime for her! She will be happy and satisfied with life, oh how great that shall be. But yet she will stunt her work! "The opera is your number one priority, above any romance, Christine." The man in red pulls multiple sheets of paper out of his red cloak, and hands them over fast. Raoul stand still, seemingly strange out by the interaction, not yet speaking. Christine looks down at the paper, and back up, seemingly traumatized. "What is this? It has the rhyme of an opera, but the themes, the story. It uses my own Na-" She was cut off by the man in red's white glove covering her mouth. Raoul took offense to this and grabbed unto the right shoulder of the red cloak, and pulled it away from Christine. The red cloak seemed to move lower, then up faster, as a piecing feeling filled his body. Panic started as people began to run in every direction, some calling the police. Looking down, Raoul could see his own blood. The white glove of the man in red's now as red as his cloak, it was holding a small knife-like blade, without a hilt. Christine screamed as loud as she could, but the man in red took her and ran toward the corridor leading to the stage. Slowly, Raoul started to crawl in the direction he saw them run. I just have to take a right, just one right! She will forgive me, I know she will. I've waited far too long for her not to! How couldn't she? The man in red reaches the corridor, holding Christine. He stops halfway through the hallway, and kicks a seemingly random section of wall. It opens like any door, revealing a long, skinny cave-like walkway. Upon entering, he kicks it back closed. At the end is a large room-sized underground cave, with stalagmites and stalactites occasionally showing up. Lit torches light the room, and Christine's struggling only gets worse as they reach the elevated center via stairs, where a bed and piano take up space. He throws her on to the bed's side, with a mirror the size of her torso leaning against the edge of it. "Christine. This is my domain. This is where I have been waiting all these years for you. This is my place of solitude, all to myself." Christine shows terror and confusion on her face. "Years? You have known me for three days! Let me go! I have to check if Raoul is alright!" "I've known you for three days as is. Years as was. I know I have much to explain, Christine, and you still have those papers explaining it. Raoul wasn't punctured in any of his vital organs." "The papers made no sense! The lyrics were far too twisted for my mind to want to read them again!" The man in red sat at his piano, and placed his fingers on the keys. "I will play. You sing. Your voice will bring what you want most to you, I know it. Your voice will bring to me what I most want. Please, this is my one request to you. You saw me in a white mask before, but I have more to hide than my face." Christine looks at the papers, and opens her mouth, as the phantom in red begins to play the piano to the same notes she is instructed to sing by the paper. Le Cri Du fantasize. I am Phantom Erik. A name given by myself, to the only me. A life of misfortune and deformation. Lead to one high point, to Christine. Though your life is gone, a tragedy to the nations. And your body rots, I love you. And your mind has faded. I still know your voice, heaven and hell fused. I was born a freak. Mother and father left me, and I joined the circus. From high priest to gypsies. The people don't want me, just my music. 1829. The year of your passing, left me in hate. I wish you were still alive. My mind just keeps thinking, of actions to take. Out of the circus. I left that place that day, you convinced me. I only wish you here. One last day to play, before you leave me. To the man who took you away. I promise him a death, I've waited a century. Even with your corpse. I know that to this day, you still love me. I showed the body my love. I took it to my chamber, and I tasted it. I showed the body fear. I took it to my chamber, and I worshiped it. The maggots from your body. And insects from the thighs, hive in my deformed face. The bugs in my chamber. And in the ballroom floor, are their descendants. If learned the modern speech. And I've traced down the man's descendants, I've seen you with him. I know you still love me. And I sure still love you, because... I believe in reincarnation. Christine seems dazed and begins to shake, as the puts together the hard to understand opera and its story, as a large thump is heard, and stone hitting stone. The phantom in red stands up and holds his metal blade, as he hears footsteps. No, not now! I was so close! I waited far too long for this, so many chapters untold! I- The Phantom's thinking was cut off by a single gunshot to the rib, when he was sighted holding a blade next to the crying Christine. Of all the murders in the ballroom over the years, he was held accountable and wanted dead first, alive for questioning second. Ordered to fire a single bullet and block the exit, they did. Christine sees three official police force officers walk in, all with pistols drawn. A fourth man walks close to them. He has a limp, and is holding his right bottom rib, from what she can make out at this distance. She falls on her knees and looks at the Phantom, who was knocked down by a guttural shot. Removing his mask, a face half perfection, and half deformed meets light. The left cheek bone pushes out of the skin, and the flesh seems burnt. The left eye is blind, with no pupil. The working eye looks at her own two, functional pieces. The police call in dispatches, confirming him wounded, blocking the last exit, while Raoul continues regardless of their protest. "Christine," the phantom says, choking up a small sum of blood. "Yes, Erik?" she mutters softly while the police approach. "If I come back again, it will be worse than the hell I've met. You and Raoul exist in this lifetime. Marry the boy you love. But, was there a chance you truly did love me in your past incarnation?" Whispers Erik, tears and blood mixing on his cheeks. "I am sure I did, Erik. I am sure of it." "Break the mirror, Christine. Allow me this one last breath, and break it. Please, promise me one thing, Christine." "What do you want me to promise?" asked Christine, becoming emotional over the situation, regardless of the time since they met, touched by his story, whether it was true or fabricated. Christine had never seen a dying man. "Return to me one last time, at the funeral." Christine lets out a small smile as oversensitive tears fall. "Yes," she whispers, as she stands. Erik grabs her hand, as if wanting to stand one last time, too. She aids him in standing, as the police take the chance of blocking the door. Perhaps they could capture him alive for questioning. He sits down at his piano, still letting out tears, and the blood becomes more common. Christine picks up the mirror the size of her torso, and smashes it against the bed's corner. The Phantom Erik moans at the sound of the smashing mirror, and hand signals Christine to grab Raoul, who has nearly reached them, and run out of the corridor. She runs to the injured Raoul, aiding him in lifting himself, who embraces her in a long hug and kiss. After the hug expires, she puts his right arm over her neck and shoulder, while beginning to speed walk toward the officers. "Are you uninjured?" asked one of the police men. "Yes, I am... I need to go to the stage room. I can't stay here anymore." Before she allows them to answer, she is already walking away. She finally reaches the door to the hallway, and exits the long walkway of a hidden catacomb. The sound of piano music beginning to play is heard from behind her, as the cleverly disguised doorway slams shut behind her. A large rumble begins and shakes the entire building, as the piano music is swiftly made quiet. Sand is seen slowly pushing its way through the minuscule crack of the disguised door. It is said the piano was rigged to fill the entire corridor and walkway with sand when it played a certain song. Christine and Raoul were married later in that week, after Raoul was given medical treatment and stitches. Christine found another opera house, and presented the Le cri du fantôme. The play went on to start Christine's career as a nationally renowned opera singer and play writer. She attempted to keep her promise with Erik to bury him, but only three bodies were recovered from the sand. All crushed against the disguised door by a rush of sand, and all confirmed police force members. DISCLAIMER I, ShawnHowellsCP, nor Creepy-pasta Wiki, claim ownership over Phantom of the Opera. The book was written by Gas-ton Le-roux, and the credit of the musical play belongs to Andrew Lloyd Webb-er and Charles Hart with additions from Richard Stilgoe. This is not claiming to be an official entry in the Phantom of the Opera story, but a mirror of it done in the Horror Revised fashion. (Originally posted on Creepy-pasta Wiki by ShawnHowellsCP, later rejected/deleted) Category:ShitPastas